Prayer for a Hitokiri
by THEBanana316
Summary: A collection of one-shots featuring Kenshin. Another collection with less of a focus on him may be forthcoming.
1. Prayer for a Hitokiri

A one-shot set near the beginning of Kenshin's time as a hitokiri.

* * *

I wake suddenly at the sound of something falling in the street. Someone outside my window curses. Their voice - it's impossible to tell male or female from here - trembles slightly. I hold my breath and peer through one of the holes in the paper window.

Outside, a short figure - red hair on a blue kimono - is standing over a pile of miscellaneous refuse in the alley. The persons wavers indecisively, apparently in a hurry, but seemingly afraid to leave a mess. A sword hangs at their side, leading me to decide this person is probably male. He turns, displaying a thin, vivid scar on one cheek. The front of his hakama is spotted red, I assume it's blood. I duck, hoping the swordsman didn't see my eye through the window paper. I know enough of war to guess that he is an assasin, and will not take kindly to my having seen him - knowing where he was at a given time.

A minute, two, pass, and there is movement in the alley. I look out through the hole again. The young swordsman is walking away, slowly, his head lowered as if in sadness. I feel that I have caught him in a vulnerable moment, a mood never seen by whomever's blood stains his clothes. And I wonder who he is, and if he's involved in the war, and if all he wants is to go back to whatever family he has in all the carnage that is Japan and eat and sleep and work and die happy one day. I wonder if he will live to see the end of this war.


	2. Question to God

Here is a new one-shot! Shinta's work and thoughts between when Hiko leaves him at the massacre site and when he returns.

* * *

Shinta brushed a leaf off of the almost-round stone he had found. It would be the last of three he needed to mark the graves of Akane, Kasumi, and Sakura, the girls who had protected him to their last breaths. Dozens of crosses dotted the freshly-turned earth marking the final resting places of the slavers Shinta had been traveling with, as well as the bandits who had killed them and been killed themselves. _'Why did that man have to leave me alive?'_ Shinta wondered quietly, a tear falling onto the stone.

 _'Akane-san...Kasumi-san...Sakura-san...'_

-Shinta, you are just a child. You have not chosen your life, as we have been able to.-

 _'I wanted to protect you...'_

-You cannot die now. You must live. Live a full life for the sake of those who died here tonight.-

 _'Why did you have to die?'_

-Shinta, please live... Live, Shinta... Live... For me...-

He didn't want to go on living. Everyone he knew - the only people he loved - were gone. His parents. The surprisingly kind slave traders. The three girls he'd only known a day... Shinta let the stone fall as he began to cry. Now that the initial shock was gone, his fear and grief flooded out unchecked. _'How can anyone live on like this?,'_ he asked nobody in particular - maybe God, maybe himself. Yet despite the myriad of tools and weapons owned by slavers and bandits alike, Shinta could not bring himself to commit suicide and die with them.

Those weapons were now in the ground with those who had wielded them so mercilessly, hopefully to never see combat or death again. Shinta had seen enough of that - as first an orphan, then a slave, and now... What was he? Who was he? Could such a boy ever be someone? Shinta wept until the tears no longer came, and the dirt and blood on his hands dripped slowly away.

* * *

The last stone stood firm and straight in the third and last of the graves before Shinta. He knelt as if in prayer, making his peace with the sacrifice of the girls who had cared for him among the slavers, and died to protect him. He didn't understand why he had been chosen, or why they had been so willing to hide him when his survival was such a slim chance, but he saw that his life had been _precious_ to them.

A boy with no parents, no title, no riches - he had been precious to someone. Someone who had only known him a single day.

He could see clearly now. A resolve formed in the young boy's mind - he would live on for those girls. To prove that their death was not in vain, not worthless.

Given the chance, Himura Shinta would change the world.

* * *

The words between hyphens are direct quotes from a subbed version of the Trust & Betrayal OVA.


	3. Respect

Kenshin sat cross-legged on the dojo floor. He was supervising a class for six-year-olds, just basic stuff like kendo etiquette and your basic stroke, but fun and useful nonetheless.

Well, that was what he was supposed to be doing. In actuality, he'd fallen asleep. There was something about watching young kids just bow at each other, and swing their tiny _shinai_ in near-misses, that put Kenshin to sleep every time. Not a rhythm or skill, heaven knew, but something. Of course, that only invites trouble. Each child had been taught 'Respect your elders,' but each, at the same time, wanted to know more about the aged.

Now the children were crowded around the sleeping man, poking his soft wrinkles to see if he was wearing a mask, or if there was something in his skin that made it sag. Petting his hair, examining the antiquated pattern on his kimono, comparing their _gi_ and _hakama_ to his and finding little difference. "Do you think I'll ever get this old?" they asked each other in wonder. "No," said some, "He's gotta be at least a thousand years old by now. We'll never catch up." They would, of course, never do this if their teacher, Kenshin's son Kenji, were here. He would not approve of their study. Ojīsan never seemed to fall asleep when Kenji was there, though, and he always woke up before he got back.

And he always did wake up. Even the gentlest petting to his hair or _gi_ , even the silentest footsteps on the part of the children – they always yielded the same results. After a few minutes – the record was ten – Kenshin would open his eyes sleepily, a little confused as he remembered why he wasn't in his own bed. The children used that moment to scuttle back to their places and pretend they'd been there the whole time. Sometimes a prticulary sneaky one would tap another with his _shinai_ , causing them to cry out in indignation. Then Kenshin would be alert, in command again, and forget what he might have seen of their abandoning their lessons. They all settled down under his calm, but firm, gaze.

Kenji would be back before long, and the children applied themselves studiously to their bows(stiff and correct), their strokes(only wobbled a little that time), and thought of the wonder of growing up.

* * *

I'l like to apologize for that ridiculously long wait... I'd blame it on school or work or whatever but really the only person I can blame is me and my laziness :P


End file.
